


this life and the next

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27231565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Not long after Jaskier was born, he started having dreams.Most of his dreams heavily featured a man with snow-white hair and piercing yellow eyes; he didn’t recognize him. In the beginning every dream was oddly boring—random snippets of a life, just him sitting around a fire with the white-haired man, talking lowly. Or him playing a lute while the man watched, eyes warm and fond. Jaskier finally asked his mother about him. If he’d ever met a man fitting that description, maybe when he was too young to remember.She had only stared at him with a confused smile, wiping her hands on her apron. She didn’t need to cook; they had help for that but she enjoyed it. “What do you mean, darling?”That was all the answer he needed to know he hadn’t met him. Not in this life, at least.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 293





	this life and the next

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall enjoy!!!! i had a lot of fun with this one
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Not long after Jaskier was born, he started having dreams.

Most of his dreams heavily featured a man with snow-white hair and piercing yellow eyes; he didn’t recognize him. In the beginning every dream was oddly boring—random snippets of a life, just him sitting around a fire with the white-haired man, talking lowly. Or him playing a lute while the man watched, eyes warm and fond. Jaskier finally asked his mother about him. If he’d ever met a man fitting that description, maybe when he was too young to remember.

She had only stared at him with a confused smile, wiping her hands on her apron. She didn’t need to cook; they had help for that but she enjoyed it. “What do you mean, darling?”

That was all the answer he needed to know he hadn’t met him. Not in this life, at least, as he would learn. He took her hand and smiled, tugging her out to the garden. Thankfully she never asked any other questions. He didn’t even consider asking his father, as he was always too busy.

The dreams didn’t stop as he grew older—actually, they grew more frequent, a dream every night. Of the man, yes, but of other things as well. Like a brown horse named Roach (he wasn’t sure how he knew her name, only that he did with a startlingly certainty) as well as many places he had never visited, one of which was a castle, unlike anything he had ever seen.

And others as well, not just the man. Other men, badly scarred.

He didn’t understand the dreams until the morning of his thirteenth birthday when he opened his eyes with a gasp, eyes wet. When he remembered it all like a dam had been broken, memories rushing through him like water. He felt sick, overwhelmed, but _relieved_ , like he had finally discovered he wasn’t crazy.

Dandelion—that had been his name, and the man, his companion, he was real. Geralt. And not just a friend, but a lover. His cheeks warmed as he remembered certain memories that probably should’ve been kept private.

It wasn’t just Geralt, of course, he remembered everything else as well.

Roach had been Geralt’s horse. He had had a horse of his own; Pegasus. Jaskier twisted his blanket in his fists. All of it had been real, and he remembered every second of it. A life he hadn’t lived—or _had_ , just before. Before he had opened his eyes to the world as Jaskier.

He debated telling his mother, but he knew better, even at thirteen. Magic existed, but he was talking about something else entirely. He couldn’t risk being sent away, or seen as crazy. He did, however, feel safe to ask around town about a man named Geralt. No one had any answers for him.

He accepted the lost until his mother gave him a gift on his fourteenth birthday. A book on reincarnation. She smiled sweetly. “I’d noticed your interest,” she admitted, and Jaskier could only smile back sheepishly. “Don’t tell your father.”

For his fifteenth birthday, he asked for a lute. His mother and father looked equally surprised, as he had never shown much of an interest before, but he had— _before_. He wanted to learn again. They bought one for him, though his father was harsh about not letting his hobby get in the way of his studies. He slowly learned how to play it over the next three years.

During those years he was briefly sent to Oxenfurt for his studies, and quickly kicked out. His father was furious at the news, expectedly, but Jaskier was ecstatic. While he had been there, he had heard rumors of the Butcher of Blaviken. That wasn’t the exciting part, no, he had caught his name—his _real_ name—uttered by one of the professors. _Geralt_. What were the odds? It had to be him, and Jaskier knew without a doubt the rumors were misplaced. He knew Geralt, or had. He wasn’t a monster.

On his eighteen birthday, he decided what he has to do.

He waited for the early morning, his bag packed and his lute strapped to his back. He tiptoed out of his room and down the hall, expecting a maid at worse. He didn’t expect to spot his mother in the kitchen. He paused, having not rehearsed an excuse.

But she just smiled before he say say a word, tilting her head. “Your father will be furious,” she said.

He could only nod.

“And you won’t have any money.”

Jaskier hoped he could find a way to make money on his own. His lute felt especially heavy suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, meaning it. “But—”

“You have to go,” she finished. If she fully knew she length of the situation, she didn’t show it, but she knew enough. Jaskier supposed mothers usually did. “Just be safe, Jaskier,” she said, head held high. “That is all I’ve ever wanted for you. To be safe and find your own way.”

She was so much older now, wrinkles around her eyes. He wondered idly if he’d see her again before—well. And now he had to wonder, too, if she’d come back like he did. Maybe it was a family curse, though it hardly felt like one. He had been handed a second chance. Especially picked for him.

He might not know Geralt in this life yet, but he knew him _before_ , and his chest still ached at the thought of him. Jaskier knew Dandelion—him?—had loved him a lot, could _feel_ it. He thought he could love him as well, given the chance.

Walking around the table, he hugged her and she hugged him back.

“Be well, mother,” he whispered. He left quickly after that, not wanting to be caught by his father.

/

Jaskier searched for Geralt for weeks with only the lute on his back. He asked about him in every town, but most of the townsfolk had no answers for him.

(“Why, he a friend?”

Jaskier would smile prettily. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“Mmm, well, he hasn’t been here in a while. Thank the Gods for that.”)

Finally he settled for a bit, mostly because he was exhausted and while he’d been able to make _some_ coin performing in taverns (despite being an unknown talent) it wasn’t nearly enough for a horse. The local tavern was a lively one, at least, and he was sure he could make enough to finally buy a horse and provide meals for the next couple of days.

He looked over his newest pieces – garbage, he knew, all of them – before grabbing his lute and descending the steps to the tavern. The place was already bustling and he could smell ale in the air. He hoped he could make enough to splurge on some for himself.

Jaskier stopped near the fireplace and strummed the first cord, taking off with the melody like he’d practiced so many times before. When he opened his mouth and started to sing the lyrics, he sadly wasn’t surprised by the first slice of bread thrown his way.

He ducked, barely missing it. “Yes, well,” he said loudly. “Glad I could bring you all around like this.”

With a huff, he removed his lute and peeked at the bread on the floor. Was he desperate enough? If not now, he decided, likely later. But then his eyes flickered up at just the right moment to spot the man in the very back of the tavern, alone and somewhat shadowed by the darkness of the corner.

He knew, like a punch to his chest, without even having to take a step closer.

Slowly Jaskier stepped forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, but he stopped after a few steps. Geralt still hadn’t lifted his head, gazing at the tankard in front of him with a blank expression. He hadn’t actually considered this part, what he would do when he met Geralt.

He could tell him the truth.

He knew he’d be lucky if Geralt didn’t draw one of his swords and press it to his neck, nostrils flaring. Who wouldn’t? A bard, so obviously not his dead lover, pretending to be him. Sounded like a cruel joke.

No, if he were honest, Geralt would think he was mad or, worse, just as cruel as the rest of them.

Jaskier sauntered up to the table, grabbing an ale off a barmaid as he went. He knew it was unfair, to befriend Geralt with decades of knowledge on him and not tell him, but he had to. He really was drawn to him, the way he only ever had been drawn to music. He wondered how much of it was him and how much was Dandelion, seeping through.

Was there a difference? They were the same person, he supposed, in a way, though he knew Dandelion had been different in some ways by his memories. He had been slightly more reserved, mostly, not quite as gaudy and loud as Jaskier.

Would Geralt still like him the same, despite the differences?

Only one way to find out, he knew, as he stopped at the table and smiled brightly. Geralt looked up at him with a frown.

“You don’t have a review?” he asked breezily as he sat down. Geralt just stared at him. For a moment he worried he would recognize him. Based on his memories, Geralt had loved Dandelion just as much as he had loved him. It wouldn’t be shocking to think he could see through the differences, but finally his eyes fell away. “Come on,” he pleaded. “Three words or less.”

Geralt sighed deeply. “They don’t exist.” At Jaskier’s look, he continued, “The monsters you sing about.”

Jaskier nodded, smiling slightly. He knew that, of course, but he’d also known a simple bard with too much knowledge of monsters might seem suspicious. “Well, can you blame me? I’ve never seen any real monsters.”

In this life, at least.

“Most would count that as a blessing,” he replied lowly, and Jaskier was silent for a moment, just watching him. He was different from his memories of him; he didn’t look older, but his hair was longer than in his memories and his eyes were blank, no longer as bright.

He wondered if Dandelion’s death— _his_ death—had done that to him.

“Yes, well, I’m not like most,” he said. “I _did_ approach you and tell me, do you spell any fear on me?”

Geralt blinked once, looking a little surprised. Jaskier tried not to preen at the achievement. “No,” he admitted reluctantly. “You don’t, but that just means you’re an idiot.”

He stood up suddenly, not even finishing his ale before grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. Jaskier quickly followed, lute thumping against his back with every step. When they exited the tavern, Jaskier spotted her.

“Roach,” he breathed, but he knew it couldn’t be the same horse, given the years, but she looked like the one in his memories.

Geralt side-eyed him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, too fast. “Um. Beautiful horse.”

Geralt watched him a second longer before grunting and approaching the horse. He didn’t offer Jaskier a ride, which was fine. He was used to walking, and Geralt didn’t travel very quickly. He followed him out of town, down the dirt road that led to the deserted lands outside of town. After a while, Geralt slipped off Roach and walked alongside him.

“So,” Jaskier said.

Geralt stared ahead, silent. Jaskier supposed this was all expected; he knew who Geralt was, but he didn’t know he was his lost love, Dandelion. He couldn’t expect a warm welcome.

Eventually he just went for it, needing a proper excuse to stay by Geralt’s side, “I could be your barker! Spreading the tales of the Butcher of Blaviken.”

A sharp look from Geralt and he realized his mistake.

“I mean, that moniker is entirely unfitting,” he continued quickly. “I could rid you of it.”

He had memories of Geralt that were so unlike the rumors he nearly questioned their authenticity. Geralt’s fingers in his hair—Dandelion had had longer hair—gentle and soft. Geralt, slowly pleasuring him by a fire. Geralt hadn’t always been this way, he knew, he had been different once upon a time, softer and more trusting. The world had taken that from him.

He only hoped he could give it back.

“And how would you know that?” he asked, voice betraying no emotion. “You just met me.”

Jaskier supposed that was a valid question. “I can just tell,” he assured him. “I’m quite gifted at reading people and you, my friend, are a good person.”

Geralt snorted, and he ignored the thump of his heart, feeling pleased. “You are mistaken, bard.”

“Only one way to find out,” he replied cheerily.

/

Jaskier loved Geralt. Not because of his lingering feelings from his past life, but because Geralt was still like the man he remembered in so many ways. He wasn’t some heartless monster, but kind in his own ways. Always making sure Jaskier had had enough food before eating his portion. Protecting him when he dumbly jumped in the way of danger.

Once he was even just awake enough to feel as Geralt draped a blanket over his sleeping form.

He loved him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He had inquired about his relationships a few times and Geralt had grown quiet, mouth a thin line. He never mentioned Dandelion.

Jaskier remembered his own death but it was fuzzier than the rest of his memories; a monster had attacked him and he had died in Geralt’s arms. He supposed it was fair, then, that Geralt showed no interest in taking a new lover.

Then fucking _Yennefer_ entered their life, and the worst part of all? Jaskier understood why Geralt was drawn to her. She was a force to be reckoned with and equally as beautiful.

And admittedly he was thankful for her part in saving his life.

Sitting out under the stars, Jaskier heard the door open and then a soft sigh. Not Geralt, then. Yennefer sat with him on the steps; she looked bare, no longer wearing dark eye shadow or an extravagant gown.

“He is still brooding in there,” she remarked. “As if you aren’t perfectly fine. I don’t enjoy people doubting my work,” she added with a jut of her chin.

Jaskier smiled slightly. “He just doesn’t trust mages,” he assured her. “Would have never even come here if not for my big mouth.”

“Are you not angry at him?” she asked, side-eyeing him. “He all but cursed you. You would’ve been dead without my help.”

Jaskier shrugged, squinting up at the sky. “It was an accident,” he said. “I know he’d never do that on purpose. I just wish he’d get some sleep already.” That had been the start of the whole thing, after all.

Yennefer gave a small smile, looking almost guilty. “I’ll admit that I didn’t have the best intentions at first,” she confessed, and Jaskier tensed, waiting for the rest. “But I’m glad I thought better of it,” she finished; she didn’t sound apologetic, really, but Jaskier didn’t care too much. He was fine, throat still vaguely sore but fine. “He probably would’ve had my head if I did anything to hurt you, anyway.”

“You seem to think highly of him,” he said, “despite the rumors.”

Yennefer hummed. “I might’ve explored his mind a bit,” she admitted, and Jaskier let out a huff of laughter before he froze. Her smile was both comforting and terrifying.

Jaskier ignored the heavy thump of his heart. She knew, and it was only a matter of time before she told Geralt. He had seen their instant connection, painful as it was to witness. She would surely put Geralt above him, thinking he deserved to know the truth. And he did, he knew, but he wasn’t ready just yet.

“Your secret is safe with me, bard,” she continued, looking away.

Jaskier blinked. “What?” he blurted. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she replied easily. “I don’t take pleasure in sharing the secrets of others.”

Jaskier nodded slowly, joining her in peering at the sky. “I want to tell him,” he confessed quietly, “but you saw it. He was devastated as he—as _I_ —died in his arms. What would he think? Why would he even believe me?”

“He’s a stubborn fool,” she spoke as if she’d known him much longer than just twenty-four hours. “But I can attest to this—he cares about you, deeply. I could’ve asked for anything, I think, and he would’ve given it to me to save your life.”

Jaskier tried not to feel too pleased. He never doubted Geralt cared for him, as a friend or companion, but could they ever be what they once were? He wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t missed his chance. If Geralt could ever love again like he had before.

It was weird, being jealous of himself. Of Dandelion and what he had had with Geralt, sickeningly pure and true. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t also remembered the bad, like the way Geralt had tried to push him away at the beginning, or the endless fights they had had when Dandelion jumped in the way of danger to protect Geralt, again and again.

“He’s a good man,” he settled on, and Yennefer side-eyed him with a knowing look.

“Indeed.”

/

Except Geralt _didn’t_ pursue a relationship with Yennefer, not the way Jaskier expected. They were friends, but nothing more. Unless he was hiding the whole thing from Jaskier, which he supposed wasn’t completely impossible.

All in all, Jaskier found himself growing quite fond of the sorceress, a stark contrast to the fierce jealously he had felt upon first seeing her.

He was even pleasantly surprised when they crossed paths before the start of the dragon hunt. A friendly—if not harshly honest—face was welcomed. Not to mention, she was the most powerful sorceress he knew and the mountain apparently was swimming with more than just dragons. As he climbed it, he couldn’t help thinking Geralt and Yennefer would make a pretty match.

His stomach churned with jealously at the mere thought. But they weren’t together, not like that. He wondered if they would be, if Geralt hadn’t lost Dandelion and closed off any chance at romance as a result.

Yennefer slowed down, matching paces with him. “Your thoughts are so loud,” she mused with a hint of amusement.

“You could just not listen,” he muttered with a glare.

She smiled slightly. “And what would be the fun in that?”

Sighing, he shook his head and glanced ahead; Geralt was just a few steps ahead of them. He had slowed his own pace and Jaskier wondered idly if he was eavesdropping, but Yennefer shook her head.

“Even if he was, I put up a soundproofing ward,” she said confidently.

Jaskier supposed there were advantages to being friends with a sorceress. He noticed the twitch of Yennefer’s mouth and almost felt embarrassed but she quickly moved past it, as she was ought to do, unaffected by anything.

“You know what would be romantic,” she said, tilting her head toward him. “A night spent together under the stars.”

Jaskier snorted. “Did you miss the part where I am not his lover?”

“This time,” she supplied unhelpfully. “But you were, and could be again.”

Jaskier was doubtful, even as he longed for it. He decided to change the subject, as _he_ was ought to do. “Why do you fight with him so much?” he asked curiously. Perhaps, he thought, that was why they could never be more than friends. Yennefer and Geralt were so alike and yet so different and they fought endlesly as a result.

“He’s a bastard,” she said breezily. “I understand what you see in him, mind you, but I have only the highest of standards.”

Jaskier grinned. “Like him?” he asked, nodding at her companion. _He_ was a real bastard.

She waved. “Please, he is nothing but a pawn.”

He nodded. “I don’t know why you’re here, Yennefer, but I’m glad for the company.”

She looked stricken for a moment. “Yes, well. We all have our reasons.” The group had started to slow considerably, likely to be stopping for the night soon. Jaskier moved away from her to join Geralt’s side again.

“I preferred when you hated her,” Geralt grumbled, but Jaskier didn’t miss the curl of his mouth.

Jaskier nudged him playfully. “Is that jealously I hear?” he teased, entirely joking but he also didn’t miss the clench of Geralt’s jaw.

/

The dragon hunt was wildly anticlimactic. From Jaskier’s perspective, at least. Once it was all over, Borch and the others were back at least. Jaskier talked with Borch’s lovely companions. Under any other circumstances, he might’ve flirted more but, well.

They were only interested in Borch (who knew why) and his heart was unfortunately not in it.

He was too focused on Geralt and Yennefer, standing near the cliff with Borch. What had started as a normal conversation had grown louder and louder until Yennefer was almost yelling, eyes glistening with tears.

Finally she stormed off and Borch followed quickly after, glancing at Jaskier with a sharp jerk of his head. Confused, Jaskier slowly made his way to the cliff. Geralt was turned away from him.

“What happened?” he asked gently, and Geralt didn’t answer for a long while.

“She learned about the child,” he said, and Jaskier knew better than to correct him.

He took a step closer, dirt crunching under his boots. Geralt turned but only a little; Jaskier could just barely see the tense line of his jaw, his mouth a thin line. “Why would she be so upset about that?” he asked, and he shrugged sharply.

“Jealously, I suppose.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “If I could, I’d give the child to her. Free of charge.”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said before he could think better of it because—well, he _knew_ Geralt. He knew he was all bark, no bite.

Geralt turned fully toward him, frowning deeply. “What?”

He should back off. “I know you, Geralt,” he continued, squaring his shoulders. “More than you think I do. You love that child.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “ _Do_ you?” he asked, and Jaskier wouldn’t be deterred by the coldness of his voice. He knew he didn’t mean it.

“I do,” he replied easily, taking another step forward. Geralt stared down at him, somehow, despite their similar heights. “You keep saying you don’t need other people and that you’re _so_ fine on your own, but I _know_ that isn’t true.”

Geralt just stared at him, unblinking. “And how do you know that?” he asked slowly.

“Because you _told_ me!” he exploded loudly, remembering that night as Dandelion. It’d been the first time Geralt had really opened up to him, voice raw as he spoke his fear of being abandoned by everyone and how he thought it was the inevitable end to his story because who could love him? He remembered lightly petting his hair, whispering in his ear that he loved him and always would, in this life and the next. At the time he hadn’t realized how true that was.

Geralt blinked finally. Jaskier didn’t even realize the mistake he’d made until it was far too late.

“No,” Geralt said, voice steady. Jaskier thought he looked curious and fearful all at once. “I didn’t.”

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat. He could play it off if he was lucky but maybe Yennefer had been right. Geralt deserved to know, and Jaskier was tired of lying to him. He cleared his throat, hard, stood a little taller. “No, you didn’t,” he replied just as steadily, proud of his voice for not wavering. “But you did tell Dandelion.”

At the mention of his dead lover, Geralt winced, taking a quick step back. Jaskier ignored the ache of his heart. “How do you know about him?” he demanded.

“I—” Jaskier opened his mouth, closed it, took a deep breath. There was no going back. He had to tell him the truth, no matter the outcome. “Because I was him. Am?” He cringed. “Not quite sure of the terminology for this, but, um.” He stood taller again. “I remember living as him, the life we had together.”

He waited; Geralt stared at him, showcasing no emotion.

Jaskier ignored the heavy thump of his heart, expecting the worst. He wouldn’t blame him, for keeping the secret for so long. Finally Geralt let out a breath and rushed forward; Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, unsure of what to expect. He relaxed when he felt Geralt’s arms around him, strong and warm. Slowly he opened his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” he said into his ear.

Jaskier swallowed thickly. “Me neither,” he admitted. “But I remember it. Every second of our lives. The only part that’s a little fuzzy is, uh.” Geralt pulled back, staying close. “My death,” he confessed. All he remembered, really, was the pain and the sound of Geralt’s sobs, a sound he hoped he would never hear again.

“Well, thank the Gods for that,” he muttered darkly. “That was — it was the worst day of my life, Jaskier. I thought I had lost you, but…” Geralt’s eyes raked over him, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Are you sure?” he asked, and Jaskier couldn’t blame him for being doubtful.

He smiled slightly, reaching up to gently thumb his jaw. “I am. I remembered meeting you, Geralt. You—” He bit his lip. “You were the reason I started playing the lute.” Not in this life, but the last. Back then Geralt had always been open about loving his voice, bright-eyed and honest, so unlike the Geralt he had met in this life.

Geralt’s eyes widened a little. “It really is you,” he breathed. “Fuck. Jaskier, I—I’m the fucking _worst_.”

Jaskier shook his head, letting his hand slide down Geralt’s neck to rest on his shoulder. “You didn’t know,” he replied softly. “And I can’t blame you for being how you are, knowing what you went through.”

“Is it a curse?” he asked, his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier could tell he didn’t actually want to know but was asking out of some kind of obligation.

He smiled slightly. “Not sure,” he admitted, “and frankly I don’t think I care to know.” Geralt blinked at him once, looking unsure, before he nodded curtly, relaxing a little. “What matters is that I’m here,” he continued quietly. “And now you know the truth.”

“We should go,” Geralt said, and Jaskier knew he was right; they were practically alone on top of the mountain, now.

Jaskier’s eyes flickered to the tent Yennefer had left behind in her hurry. He bit the inside of his cheek and spun around to stand next to Geralt, lightly nudging him. “Or,” he said lowly, “we could stay just a little longer.”

Geralt side-eyed him. “Roach is waiting,” he said, but Jaskier knew he’d won already by the twitch of his mouth.

“You know I love that horse,” he said, a hand over his heart. It was true, to be fair, he loved all of Geralt’s horses, constantly spoiling her despite Geralt’s protests. “But I think she can survive just a day longer on her own. She has certainly survived worse.”

Geralt snorted. “You’re a terrible person, Jaskier.”

“Was Dandelion any better?” he asked, surprised by how much he wanted to hear his answer.

Geralt blinked and his smile was almost sad. “Not really, no,” he confessed, and suddenly he was pulling Jaskier in the direction of the tent, walking backwards. Jaskier hated how graceful he looked, like he wasn’t even slightly afraid of tripping.

/

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, he was staring up at the sky. Turning his head, he saw Geralt watching him, already awake. “Yennefer?” he questioned, gesturing to the very evident lack of tent.

He smiled slightly, and Jaskier’s heart fluttered at the rare sight. “Mhm.”

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said as he sat, stretching. Geralt sat up with him, close enough that Jaskier could feel his warmth. “I guess it is about time we go, isn’t it? Poor Roach is probably—”

He was abruptly cut off by Geralt’s lips on his own, a repeat of last night, warm and solid. Jaskier blinked once before he smiled a little and began to kiss back, gentle and slow. Separating, Geralt continued to hold his face between his hands, staring at him with an uncharacteristic gentleness. Uncharacteristic of _this_ lifetime, at least, but Jaskier could remember him looking at Dandelion like that daily, fond and in love. Jaskier stared back, heart beating loudly.

“I can’t believe it,” he mumbled. “You’re really here.”

Jaskier bit his lip, a fear suddenly engulfing his heart. He took a shaky breath. “I’m not Dandelion,” he replied quietly. “I lived his life, but I’m my own person. I love you, Geralt. I loved you then, and I do now,” he continued, “but you have to know the difference.”

Geralt nodded quickly. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

Pleased, Jaskier leaned forward and kissed him again. It was the start of their new life together and Jaskier could only hope it would be even half as lovely as his time with Geralt had been as Dandelion. If he was lucky, he thought as he pulled back and noticed Geralt's tentative smile, it might be even _better_.


End file.
